top of page
  • Writer's pictureWILLIAM HAZEL

End of Year Resolution

Updated: Jun 15

The sky on fire was a sure prompt for feeling small. In the dark of the new Moon, bundled against the last of autumn’s chill, we chaise recline facing the eastern blaze of the Geminid meteor shower. For two nights the spectacle burns. Breathtaking scribes flaming orange and yellow through a slow second and some counting past two, two long seconds of brighter to brightest before vanishing into the black.


And through the Moon’s introduction the planets align. I practice seeing them together without disturbing the simplicity with metaphor. We gather near the firepit as Winter enters. Burning dry tinder from the lantana and hibiscus. All that before brought green and flower. The crackle of dry browned limbs gives brief heat, the earth scent of the cool white smoke inviting inhale. They sleep now in root, and I dare to acknowledge the arrogance of my considering their spring renewal assured.


I am hard on myself inside. Unquiet of mind.

All these complications of December. Mental machinations of family near and dead. Those remained and those estranged. Blood love stacked as hardwood for flame. A time meant for reflection, for giving, becomes the time for wanting. Typical this, my choosing to languish in the shortest day without embracing the whole of the scene of the longest night.

To begin the winter and end the year thinking of all that I did not accomplish. I hear the voice in my head. See the words from my pen. What I missed. What went wrong. What was bad. I wanted to make so much more of this twenty and three. It was a milestone year for my physical self. I should have climbed a mountain, ran an age matching ultra, won the lottery, done something worthy of genuine rocking chair reminiscing.


The longest night as the grandest time. This might be a good place to reframe an end of year perspective. And maybe feel better about the good stuff. There was great stuff, in truth. A new fence and a trip to Europe. Figuring out how to write from the pain instead of about the pain. And I bought a favorite sweater. A could wear it every day kind of sweater. Two of them, actually. Two colors. I didn’t have any last year and this year I have two. I’ll break the paragraph to offer pause for imagining such luxury.


And it's another year from the COVID trauma. The life-changing time. Every day of distance brings healing. I did a lot of healing this year. Reminding the best things are never measured.


So I’ll skip aching missed achievement for celebrating progress. Progress, not perfection. One day at a time is enough. Accepting what I think about what I think about. Just let it be. This is enough.


The last rains fell the last leaves and the night horizon lines with tall trees branched nude. Humming wordless hymns in a wind now from winter. And I poke the fire bottom, sparking an ember to raise in draft clear high. Glowing hot in the very bottom of the sky. Another burning star shooting to an end.

1. Title photo by Samuele Giglio, Unsplash.

© Copyright William Hazel, 2023

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page